


Summer Endeavors

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Public Sex, Stranger Sex, complete PWP, idek guys, no plot to be found, ok yeah public sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles works at a shoe store. Erik walks in and asks for size fifteen shoes. </p><p>Ever the empiricist, Charles decides to test the correlation between shoe size and...other size.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Endeavors

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from, guys.
> 
> Thanks syn for the beta and hashing out details. 
> 
> Thanks mimo for issuing the challenge of me writing something without heartbreak (which I do a lot??), so here it is.
> 
> For all you needy chat people.

This afternoon has been quiet. There have only been a handful of patrons trickling in and out for the last couple of hours, but it’s only one-thirty and there’s always a lull after lunch, so Charles isn’t worried. Business has been slow enough today that Raven’s taken off on her break early, probably to either meet up with her new boyfriend—some fellow named Azazel whom Charles really doesn’t trust but whom Raven seems to adore—or to eat up her latest paycheck in one of the clothing stores down the street. Sitting where he is at the front desk, Charles can hear Sean somewhere along the lines of shelves, hopefully stacking merchandise and hopefully not smoking. Alex is sitting across from the front door at one of the fitting benches, surfing on his phone and blowing bubbles with his gum and popping them obnoxiously. After a couple of minutes, he sighs, slips his phone in his pocket, and heads off to the backroom. He’s on inventory duty today, which is horribly tedious and mind-numbingly boring. Mentally, Charles wishes him the best of luck. He idly scribbles down a couple of sentences on the back of a receipt and then scratches out one adjective and substitutes it for another. _Insensate,_ he thinks. Now there’s a good word.

 “Nike shoes.”

Charles jerks in his seat, his head snapping up to find a man standing in front of the desk, staring straight at him. “Pardon me?” He hadn’t even heard the bell above the door jingle, signaling a new arrival. He’s got to stop writing on the job and pay more attention to his customers.

“Nike shoes,” the man says again. “I’m looking for a new pair of running shoes. You carry Nikes here?”

“Oh. Right. Nike shoes,” Charles echoes, then pauses. Most people come to Xavier’s to buy dress shoes, heels, the latest fashion trends. He’s not exactly known for his athletic apparel. But he doesn’t say no, because he’s prone to being shallow at times, and when this stranger is the first incredibly attractive man Charles has seen in ages, especially when Charles hasn’t gotten laid in nearly three months, he’s capable of being _very_ shallow indeed. And said stranger is ruggedly handsome with his five-o’clock shadow and his sharp jaw and those steely blue-gray eyes, and he’s just Charles’s type, damn it. Charles is, at the moment, in a phase of self-imposed celibacy. But it can’t hurt to look, he tells himself. Oh, it really can’t hurt.

“Come with me,” he says cheerily, standing and rounding the desk. “I’ll see if we can find you a pair, Mr.…?”

“Lehnsherr,” the man offers. “Erik Lehnsherr. Yourself?”

“Charles Xavier,” Charles replies, offering his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Erik shakes his hand, and God, he has just the sort of elegant, strong hand that Charles loves. Charles pulls his own hand away a bit too quickly, worried Erik will see the flush on his cheeks. It really has been too long since he’s gotten laid. Maybe he needs to get out, go to a bar, find someone who’s willing to have a spot of fun with no strings attached. He’s just got too much pent-up energy, and he needs to let it out somewhere. Besides, it’s not as if the celibacy has really been helping. He doesn’t feel any more emotionally mature, just more sexually frustrated, all the time. This growing up and getting serious thing is getting very tiring.

“Nikes,” he says as he leads Erik down a row of polished loafers. “We have a section of athletic shoes in the back. Not too wide of a selection, I’m afraid, since we’re mostly a formalwear store, but I’m sure we’ll find something for you. Now what size are you looking for?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fif—” Charles stops dead. Looks down.

Oh. Yes. Those would be size fifteens. He can’t help the way his eyes travel up, up those fine long legs and—oh _God_ , Mr. Erik Lehnsherr is wearing a very well-fitted pair of slacks, and all Charles can think for a long, frazzled moment is _he wears size fifteen shoes and the average male wears ten and a half._

Erik clears his throat. Charles realizes he’s staring in exactly the wrong place and wrenches his gaze away, mortified. “Uh—fifteen. Right, um, right this way please, I’ll just—”

His face burning, he spins on his heel and heads down the aisle to the next one, where Sean is, thankfully enough, innocently re-packaging and shelving shoes that people have taken out and put back improperly. He glances up, flips some unruly red curls out of his eyes, and grins winningly. “Hey. So it’s not so busy today and you’ve got Alex here, too, and I was wondering if I could…um.”

“Take off early?” Charles guesses.

Sean’s grin widens hopefully. “Read my mind. So…?”

Sean’s only working here part-time because he has summer classes. Actually, he’s only working here _at all_ because Alex is a good friend and begged Charles to give the redhead a chance, and Charles is a compassionate sap—Raven’s words, not his—and doesn’t understand the meaning of _no_. Case in point: he teeters on the edge of giving Sean the afternoon off now, even though there’s still a whole row of shelves to be re-organized. But he sticks firm and says, “You can leave as soon as you finish tidying up this aisle, all right?”

“Sweet.” Sean salutes him and turns enthusiastically back to wrapping a pair of shiny red heels in the packaging paper.

Charles leads Erik past him and turns the corner, continuing until they reach the back corner where the athletic shoes are stored. “Sorry for the limited selection,” he says, giving Erik an apologetic smile. “As I said, we’re more of the loafer and dress shoe type. If you don’t find anything you like here, I’d be happy to point you to some sportswear stores. I’ve got some fantastic references…”

He trails off as he realizes that Erik isn’t looking at the shoes at all. He’s looking at Charles, his eyes dark, something unreadable flickering on the edges of his expression. His fingers twitch half an inch toward Charles, then stop. He drags his gaze away and coughs, sounding embarrassed. “Um. Yes. That sounds good. I’ll just…Nikes?” 

“Here.” Charles bends over to scan the bottom shelf where the Nikes are stored, locates a size fifteen, and pulls it out and straightens up. “Here are size fifteens. We have a couple of other models with various color schemes, if you’d like to look later, but you can try on this pair to check the fit.”

“That sounds great,” Erik says faintly, and Charles startles when he notices where Erik’s attention is. Is he…? Yes. Yes, he is. He is most definitely doing a horribly unsubtle job of checking out Charles’s ass, and Charles is suddenly very glad that he wore the nice, tailored slacks today that hug his thighs and every curve that matters. He usually makes an effort to dress nicely—put on a good impression as the face of the franchise, as his mother would say—but these pants are his favorite and show off his assets particularly well. And Erik is, without a doubt, appreciating his sartorial choices.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” he says. Then, “Erik.”

Erik flinches a little before tearing his gaze from Charles’s backside. “Yes?”

“The shoes?”

“Oh. Right.” Erik takes the box from Charles’s hands and flips open the lid. “Pink?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Stylish choice,” Charles informs him solemnly. “I think we also have magenta if you want to give that a go.”

Shaking his head, Erik sits down on the nearest bench and kicks off his shoes. John Lobb, Charles notes. A polished black pair in impeccable condition, though by the slight scuff marks on the sides, they’ve been worn for a while. So Erik takes good care of his shoes, which Charles respects. Erik also has got to come from some money because John Lobb isn’t cheap, and plus, the suit Erik is wearing looks bespoke. It traces the sharp line of Erik’s shoulders, narrows down into an impossibly small waist, and fits Erik’s legs as snugly as Charles’s slacks fit him. The dark blue offsets his eyes, makes them somehow even more difficult to read. But there’s no mistaking the way Erik was staring at him earlier. Hoping he’s not red-faced, Charles folds his hands behind his back and waits as Erik slips on the right shoe.  

“How’s the fit?” Charles asks as Erik bends over to tie up the laces.

“Good, I think. Not too tight.”

 _Too tight._ Christ. These are already size fifteens. “Let me check,” Charles murmurs as he drops to one knee. Above him, Erik sucks in a nearly inaudible breath, and Charles can’t help it—he glances up, right at Erik’s crotch, and— _fuck_ —those pants are pulled tight around his groin, outlining enough to make Charles’s breathing shorten. With a tremendous effort, he wrenches his eyes away and forces himself to look down. His cheeks are flushed, he’s sure of it. He only hopes Erik doesn’t notice the redness as Charles turns his face away to press down on the sneaker tip with his thumb and then gently feels out the sides to check if it fits well or not. After a quick examination, he sits back on his haunches and looks back up at Erik, yanking his eyes up rapidly to avoid the temptation of looking anywhere lower.

“So?” Erik asks. A smirk tilts the edges of his lips up. Oh fuck. He’s noticed. “What’s the verdict?”

“The…” Charles swallows. Erik’s eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple, which makes his throat go dry all over again. “It…seems to fit well. Your feet are certainly…” _Big enough to fit those fifteens? Christ, Charles, don’t say stupid things._ “They fit,” he finishes lamely.

Erik’s smirk grows. “You said there were other colors…?”

“Oh. Right.” Charles clears his throat and stands to go scour the shelves. “Any particular color you had in mind?”

“I seem to remember talk about a magenta pair?”

Charles laughs and crouches down by the lower shelves. “Coming right up.”

It takes a couple of minutes to suss out a magenta pair, and Charles is a hundred percent certain Erik is staring at his ass the entire time. When he finally manages to dig out a box and turn around, Erik is leaning back, weight supported on his arms stretched out behind him, his legs fallen casually open. He’s being about as subtle as a brick to the face, and Charles feels his heart begin to pound eagerly in his chest.

“One magenta pair,” he announces unnecessarily, holding the box out.

Erik shakes his head, that damnably attractive smirk fixed in place. “Do me a favor,” he says, sticking out his right leg, “and put them on for me?”

Normally, Charles would protest. He’s not anybody’s servant; he’s got a trust fund, he’s a successful graduate of Oxford, and he’s merely helping out here for the summer as per his mother’s request, just until they find a new manager. But normally, he’s not faced with a ridiculously hot man so obviously coming on to him, legs sprawled open as if his knees are magnetically repelling each other, asking for _size fifteen_ shoes. Goddammit, Charles thinks. How the hell is he supposed to be mature and stop with the casual flings in search of a real relationship when Mr. Size Fifteen is staring at him in the face with a sort of lazy pompousness in his eyes that makes Charles want to drop to his knees right there and wring moans from the man that will have the entire street blushing? His self-control’s only good for so much. It’s certainly not good enough to resist this.

 He kneels by Erik’s right foot and unties the laces. He can feel Erik watching him as he slides the pink shoe off and digs the magenta one out from the box. Taking hold of Erik’s ankle, he guides Erik’s foot into the magenta shoe and pulls up the tongue to give him more space to maneuver in. He tries to ignore how warm Erik’s leg is against his hand. Erik’s wearing dark blue dress socks that match his pants and feel expensive to the touch. Charles resists the urge to run his fingers over the material and instead sets Erik’s foot down and releases his grip so he can tie the laces. Then he sits back.

“How do they feel?”

“Mm,” Erik hums noncommittally. He lifts his foot and wiggles it with a grin that reminds Charles of a shark in a particularly good mood. “Fits about right. Magenta’s a good color for me, don’t you think?”

Charles laughs and eyes the combination of blue suit and bright magenta shoe. “It’s certainly…eye-catching.”

“I don’t think,” Erik says softly, his voice so low it’s almost a rumble, “the shoe is what’s catching your eye.”

Charles freezes. He knows they’re being obvious, but he hadn’t counted on being called out on it so soon, or so directly. “I…” he starts, but there really isn’t anything to say. His eyes flick down between Erik’s legs again, and he realizes with a jolt of hot lust straight down his spine that Erik is hard, or at least getting there. Charles can see a substantial bulge beginning to grow, perfectly accentuated by the pull of those well-fitted slacks, and it’s true, Charles thinks dazedly, what they say about men with big feet.

He looks up at Erik, who stares back down at him, that smirk still giving him that impish, arrogant look that tightens Charles’s belly. Almost unbidden, he drifts forward a bit until he’s bracketed by Erik’s knees. He puts one hand on Erik’s thigh, just above the knee, and Erik grins, all teeth.

“Not really,” Charles admits, his mouth dry. “Although magenta is a flattering shade on you.”

“Oh, is it?” Erik murmurs, shifting forward just a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough to draw Charles’s attention to his crotch again. Erik is hard, there’s absolutely no doubt about it; Charles can almost see the exact outline of his cock against the fabric of his pants, pressing against the seam of his groin. It makes Charles’s own cock jerk in his pants, and he licks his lips without meaning to. Above him, Erik breathes out a very quiet, “ _Fuck_.”

His pulse racing, Charles shifts forward on his knees and moves both his hands to either side of Erik’s groin, not close enough to touch it but enough to give him leverage to nudge Erik’s legs a little wider apart, stretching his slacks until Charles can practically see the head of Erik’s cock straining against the fabric. Erik groans low in his throat and leans back further, his breath hitching. Charles shoots him a wicked grin before bending his head and licking one long, slow stripe against the outline of Erik’s erection against his pants.

“Oh fuck,” Erik whispers, sounding choked. All semblance of arrogance is gone, that smirk replaced by wide, almost disbelieving eyes. “Are you going to…?”

“Why?” Charles kisses the line of Erik’s cock, eliciting a startled hiss from above him. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Absolutely not,” Erik says sharply. Then he has the good grace to look sheepish. “I mean, it’s just…Is there anyone else here?”

Almost as if in answer to his question, they hear a crash and a curse from somewhere behind them. His heart jumping violently, Charles leaps to his feet and tries to straighten himself up. He’s half-hard in his pants, and there’s no hiding it. And there’s no way in hell he’s letting Erik leave yet, not when the man is nearly lying down on the bench, his pupils blown wide, his cock practically bursting from his pants. Charles swallows twice, debating the wisdom of having sex in the back of his own store. Anyone could walk in at any moment: another customer, Sean, Alex. The idea is mortifying and also strangely hot. It’s the possibility of getting caught, Charles thinks, arousal shooting like fireworks through his veins. It had been thrilling when he’d been a teenager sneaking around bathrooms in high school, and it’s equally as thrilling now.

“Hang on a second,” he says finally to Erik. “Don’t move a muscle.”

“Not going anywhere,” Erik mutters, not even bothering to sit up to try to conceal himself. Charles tears himself away and flies down the aisle until he can peer around the corner to see what sort of mess Sean has made.

Half a dozen boxes lay littered on the floor, along with a bemused Sean rubbing his shoulder gingerly. He looks like he’s taken a knock, but there’s no blood or visibly broken bones. Charles sticks his torso into view and calls out, “You all right?”

Sean glances over and nods. “Yeah, man. I was just reaching for the top shelf and there were a bunch of unbalanced boxes up there. I’m fine though. Won’t sue you or anything.”

Charles grins. “That’s a relief. Listen, why don’t you head home early?”

Sean raises both eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“But—I should clean this up. And I haven’t finished stacking these shelves yet.”

“Forget them,” Charles says dismissively. “I’ll take care of them.”

Sean shoots to his feet. “Really?”

“Really,” Charles says, trying to keep his tone from edging into exasperation. “Go already before I change my mind.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sean takes off down the aisle and disappears. Charles hears him rustling around at the front desk to collect his bag and then the door jingles once as he leaves. The instant the bell quiets, Charles bounds back to Erik.

His breath catches a bit when he sees that Erik’s done as he said: he’s barely moved an inch from where Charles left him, but the smirk is back. He unashamedly gives Charles a long, lingering once-over, and Charles straightens under his scrutiny. Those blue-gray eyes pause on Charles’s mouth, then drift lower to stop on Charles’s groin.

The smirk widens. “Coming back anytime soon?” Erik drawls, all indolent arrogance again.

“As if you could keep me away,” Charles growls, dropping down between Erik’s legs. Arousal curls heavy in his gut. He’s fully hard now, uncomfortably tight in his pants, and just looking at the curve of Erik’s erection is enough to have his pulse rocketing wildly with excitement.

“Fuck,” Erik breathes, his mask of imperiousness slipping. “God, Charles, you look—”

Eager? Impatient? Probably both. Celibacy, he decides, has not been good for him. It’s made him so desperate to get off and so constantly aroused that he’s more than willing to blow a complete stranger in the back of the store where anyone could interrupt them. There’s something wide and wondering in Erik’s eyes, and he reaches up to tangle a hand in Charles’s hair, tugging lightly but still firmly enough to draw Charles’s head closer to his cock, and _fuck_ , Charles doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his life.

“There’s no one else?” Erik asks, sounding strained. “No one else in the store?”

“My sister’s out on break,” Charles replies impatiently. He licks his lips and reaches out to put one hand right at the juncture between Erik’s groin and thigh, close enough to feel the heat radiating off Erik’s skin, even through his pants. “But she’s always late back, so we don’t have to worry about her. Alex is in the backroom, but he’s cataloguing inventory. Takes hours. We’ll have to be quiet though.”

Erik’s eyes glint with mischief. “Think you can manage that?” 

“I think my mouth’s going to be pretty full,” Charles says archly, “so keeping quiet will be _your_ problem.”

The arrogance slips again. Erik looks for a moment like he isn’t sure where Charles came from and how he’s here, kneeling between Erik’s knees with his fingers teasing along Erik’s fly. Charles pauses, wondering if that expression means that Erik wants to back out. But then Erik tugs him forward by his hair again and says roughly, “I think I can manage,” and Charles grins and ducks his head to pepper kisses down the seam of Erik’s slacks that points directly down from Erik’s gleaming silver belt buckle. Erik groans for half a second before cutting himself off sharply, his eyes wide. Charles’s grin widens and he traces the line of Erik’s cock with his finger, feeling out its entire length from head to balls, watching as Erik shudders.

“You know what they say about men with big feet?” Charles remarks offhandedly, tracing the line again and again just to watch how Erik’s hips begin to curve upwards, seeking his touch.

“You’re the one who sells shoes,” Erik grits out, his eyes riveted on Charles’s hand. “You tell me.”

“I’m not sure of the validity of that generalization,” Charles says. “I think it’s only fair if we check. Gather empirical data and all that.” He smiles slyly. “See if your…assets are really as big as your feet might suggest.”

“How about you stick my assets in your mouth and we’ll see how big they are?” Erik suggests pleasantly, though there’s an undercurrent of impatience in his voice. The muscles of his thighs are tight where Charles has laid his hands. He’s barely holding himself back, Charles thinks. From what? Thrusting into Charles’s face? Pulling out his cock and pushing it into the wet heat of Charles’s mouth? He bites back a moan at the thought.

“We’ll see,” he says, nuzzling along Erik’s thigh, inhaling his clean, sharp scent. Though at this point, it’s less of _we’ll see_ and more of _it’s only a matter of time._ He lets his fingers curl around the curve of Erik’s balls, cupping them in his hand. Stroking them gently, he leans forward and begins to press kisses against the length of Erik’s cock. What begins as closed-mouthed kisses slows into sucking kisses, and then he’s just mouthing along the rigid line of Erik’s erection, reveling in the taste of expensive wool against his tongue and in the way Erik’s legs twitch, his fingers clenching Charles’s hair in an almost painfully tight grip.

“Charles,” Erik whispers hoarsely after an interminable few minutes. “Charles… _God_ …” His grip tightens and, when Charles makes a pained sound, immediately loosens again. Erik is flushed, his neck red, his cheeks heated. “…I, um…I don’t exactly have a change of clothes with me…”

Charles pulls back slightly to inspect his handiwork. There is a damp patch all the way down Erik’s groin, and there’s a noticeably darker patch where Erik’s precome has leaked through. How much must he be leaking, to seep through both his boxers and his slacks? Charles wonders. And all this for Charles. All this delicious _hardness_.

“Sorry,” he says unrepentantly, grinning wide. He reaches up to undo Erik’s belt, flicking it apart with quick fingers. Erik groans as Charles unzips his fly and pulls at the opening, simultaneously dragging down his white boxers. Erik’s cock is revealed one glorious inch at a time, and Charles can’t help the way his pulse thunders in excitement as he reaches in and tugs until Erik is fully exposed. Erik is as thick and long as Charles might have expected from a man who wears size fifteen shoes. He’s cut, precome beading at his slit, jutting toward Charles’s mouth and begging to be licked. Charles doubts he’s ever seen a more beautiful cock in his life. He sways towards it, wanting to feel its weight against his tongue, wanting to wring such pleasure from Erik that he’ll be incoherent from it.

“Meet your expectations?”

Charles swallows. “More than.” He trails his index finger along the underside of Erik’s long cock, watching Erik’s muscles twitch in response.

“Are you sure no one’s going to find us?” Erik breathes, though he looks like he’s past caring.

“And if someone does?” Charles touches a bead of precome and then licks his finger. Erik’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Oh _God_ ,” he says gutturally. “Just—”

“Just?”

Erik’s hips jerk forward, almost as if by their own accord, and the tip of his cock hits the corner of Charles’s mouth before glancing off his cheek, leaving a smear of precome along his skin. Charles shivers, so horribly aroused in that moment that he thinks he’ll implode if he doesn’t touch himself. He reaches down to adjust his cock through his pants, trying to get some relief, but there’s no comfortable position possible when he’s rock-hard like he is. Erik hears him moving, looks down, and shakes his head. “No,” he says hazily. “Don’t touch.”

“Erik—”

“No.” He raises one socked foot and gently kicks Charles’s hand away. Then, startling Charles into silence, he lays his foot against the swell of Charles’s groin, caressing it with a circular swipe. Charles gasps harshly and thrusts forward, desperate for more, but Erik’s foot stills the second he tries to move.

“Erik.” His voice is a near whine. “You’ve gotten all the attention so far. It’d only be fair—”

“Yes, well,” Erik interrupts, his answering smile wide and roguish, “life isn’t fair, is it?”

Charles mock-glares at him. Then, without warning, he takes Erik’s cock in his hand, bends over, and pushes his mouth onto the head.

“Oh _fuck!”_ Erik swears, his voice too loud. They both freeze, Erik with his hand still tangled in Charles’s hair, Charles with Erik’s cock laying shallowly in his mouth. Trying to listen through the deafening thudding of his pulse in his ears, Charles steadies himself with one hand against Erik’s thigh, the other gripping the base of Erik’s dick. Five seconds pass. Ten. No sound is heard from the backroom, no approaching footsteps. Charles is both terrified and so hard he can barely stand it. He rolls his hips, pushing his clothed cock against Erik’s socked foot, and moans softly at the friction. Erik moans, too, at the barely-perceptible vibrations that shiver up his sensitive cock, and he lets his head loll back, exposing a tense, strong neck that Charles would like to mark, if only his mouth weren’t already occupied.

They wait another tense half minute. Then Erik pushes forward, his cock sliding past Charles’s lips in a painfully slow glide, his expression tightening in pleasure with every passing second. Charles lets him get about halfway in before stopping him with a hand against his hip and then begins to suck, slowly and gently. He takes his time finding a good pace, exploring the curves of Erik’s cock with his tongue and fingers. It’s a beautiful cock, really, thick and long and settling perfectly in Charles’s mouth. He tastes good and clean, and Erik is a receptive partner; he doesn’t thrust too hard, just minute rocking of his hips, more content to let Charles do what he wants rather than taking charge.

Actually, Charles thinks when he glances up and sees the slack-jawed expression on Erik’s face, it doesn’t seem like Erik’s capable of closing his mouth, let alone take charge. He’s staring down at Charles kneeling between his legs with wide, lust-filled eyes, his chest heaving slightly, his lips parted as he takes quick breaths. Charles smiles at him, letting his lips stretch over Erik’s girth, and Erik groans low in his throat, the hand in Charles’s hair clenching spastically. “Ugh,” he gasps. As Charles begins to slowly push more of Erik’s cock into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks to accommodate his size and fighting back his gag reflex, Erik grunts softly, nearly-inaudible little noises that make Charles’s breath quicken.

He wonders what Erik is like in bed. He wonders if Erik is loud when there is no one around, or if he’s always so reserved, always so carefully-controlled. He suddenly wishes he’d sent Alex away so he could see what sort of sounds he could pull from Erik. The thought of that low voice moaning—moaning his name—makes Charles close his eyes for a second against the rush of arousal that shoots straight to his groin.

“Charles?” Erik whispers when he pauses.

 _Sorry,_ he wants to say. _I was just thinking of making you scream._ But his mouth is full, so he just winks, which really does make Erik moan, his throat clenching visibly as he snaps his mouth closed. Charles can almost hear his teeth grind together. He teases his fingers at the base of Erik’s cock, giving him a few slow strokes as he begins to suck again. The combination of his hand and his mouth makes Erik groan again, and he fists his hand in Charles’s hair so tightly it’s almost painful. Charles doesn’t complain when Erik begins to tug, pulling him closer so that his cock sinks deeper. When the head hits the back of Charles’s throat and Charles chokes a little around it, his eyes watering, Erik breathes, “God, you should see yourself. Your lips around my cock. That tongue of yours. Your mouth is perfect. Absolutely— _fuck_.”

Charles swallows again, Erik’s cockhead thick against the back of his throat and difficult to swallow around. But he manages it, and Erik hisses out a curse through his teeth, the knuckles of his free hand white as he clenches it against his thigh. Charles keeps him there for a long moment, bobbing his head and using his tongue to press against the sides of Erik’s cock with enough wet pressure to have Erik jerking minutely in pleasure.

Then Charles pulls all the way off him and begins to lap at the precome beading at his tip, ignoring Erik’s whine of protest. Erik rocks his hips so that his cock pushes against Charles’s lips, trying to slide back in. But Charles holds him back with a hand gripping the base of his dick, squeezing with enough pressure to make Erik still. Then he continues with his ministrations, tonguing at his slit and occasionally sucking on just his cockhead before drawing off and going back to licking slow swipes along the head and length of Erik’s cock. He can feel Erik’s thighs trembling on either side of him, and hear the hitches in Erik’s breath with each touch of Charles’s tongue or hand. His heart is slamming against his chest, his own cock uncomfortably hard in the confines of his pants. He feels almost dizzy with arousal, with the need to touch himself to ease the pressure.

Almost as if in answer to that thought, he feels something nudge the bulge of his pants: it’s Erik’s foot, pressing down enough to give him friction to thrust against. With a groan of relief, he begins to rut against it, slowly, each dry slide a rough burst of pleasure that makes it difficult to keep silent. He muffles his whimpers against Erik’s thigh, turning his head to breathe wetly against the fabric of his slacks. Erik’s hand begins to stroke through his hair, soft counterpoint to the insistent rub of his foot against Charles’s groin. At the same time, he reaches down with his free hand and wraps it around Charles’s hand on his cock. Taking the hint, Charles starts to pump, shivering at the feel of Erik’s long fingers around his own, warm and firm. Erik thrusts into the circle of their fingers, and Charles turns his head to watch, his breath shortening at the sight of Erik’s thick cock fucking into their fists. He matches the rhythm of his hips to the pace Erik sets with their hands.

After a while, the friction against Erik’s foot gets maddening. It’s good but not enough. Charles’s slacks are still in the way, and Erik’s just moving his foot in lazy circles around Charles’s erection, not providing nearly enough drag to be pleasurable enough to get him off. He reaches down with his left hand and fumblingly tugs down the zipper and tries to undo his belt. He can’t quite manage it with one hand, so he pulls at his other one until Erik lets go.

“I thought I said no touching,” Erik says, breathless. But he doesn’t move to stop as Charles yanks his pants down enough to pull out his cock. He takes himself in hand and strokes a couple of times, groaning at the delicious friction. Panting as he lays his head against Erik’s thigh, he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts dissolve into a haze of pleasure. “Oh God,” he hears Erik say, and when he cracks his eyes open, Erik is looking down at him, pumping his own cock as he watches Charles pleasure himself. The sight of Erik touching himself nearly sends Charles spinning right over the edge. But he fights back his orgasm and forces himself to let go of his achingly hard erection.

“Want to suck you off,” he explains when Erik blinks at him. “Want you to come in my mouth. Want to swallow your come, every last drop of it.”

“Oh my God,” Erik groans. “You always talk like that?” He spreads his legs out further and lets go of his dick, letting it jut long and stiff from his pants. Charles catches it in hand and licks the precome dribbling down its underside.

“Not always,” he says, grinning slyly. “But I _am_ fond of sucking cock. Particularly yours.”

Erik curses. “What the fuck are you doing working in a place like this when you could be—” He cuts himself off and swallows hard, looking away.

“Could be?” Charles prompts, licking sloppily down Erik’s shaft.

Erik glances straight at him and then takes a breath that hitches when Charles palms his balls through his pants. “Uh—am I allowed to be forward?”

Charles nearly chokes when he laughs. Drawing off Erik’s cock briefly, he says, “Erik, I’m sucking your cock. I think we’re past being forward at this point.”

“Fair enough. When you could be in my bed all the time, was what I was going to say,” Erik finishes. His eyes are dark as they catch on Charles’s. “When you could have your head between my legs, sucking my cock like this every hour of every day, and when you got tired of that, I’d suck yours until you couldn’t breathe.”

“Wouldn’t get much done, would we?” Charles comments, though he’s shivering with arousal of the thought of being confined to Erik’s bed all day long, lost in a blur of pleasure.

“I’d fuck you,” Erik says idly, the fingers of his right hand buried in Charles’s hair again. “I’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk, and then I’d fuck you some more. How do you like it? Slow? Fast? Rough enough to leave bruises?”

Charles moans as Erik pushes his foot against his cock, almost hard enough to be uncomfortable. “All of the above?” he gasps. Erik holds his shoulder with his left hand, steadying him. His grip is tight enough to leave him white-knuckled. He squeezes his eyes shut and his head falls back as Charles takes his cockhead back into his mouth. He begins to suck in slow, long strokes, letting Erik’s cock go deep before pulling nearly all the way out again. Erik moans softly and pushes Charles’s head down and thrusts up with his hips, both motions serving to drive his cock deeper into Charles’s throat. After a couple of minutes, Charles pulls off to breathe properly and pants, “You can fuck my mouth, you know. As long as you jerk me off after.”

“Deal,” Erik breathes, waving an impatient hand. “Now put your mouth back on my cock.”

Charles obeys, this time hollowing out his cheeks and letting Erik control the pace. Erik’s hand migrates to the back of his head, holding Charles in place as he rocks into Charles’s mouth. Charles settles his hands on Erik’s ass, partly to brace himself, partly to pull Erik closer. Erik has a firm, strong backside, and Charles kneads it slowly, wishing he could peel these slacks off Erik entirely and explore every inch of his skin. But they’re in the back of the store and—Charles remembers with a thrill—liable to be caught any minute now. How long has it been since they started? Ten minutes? Twenty? He tries to count back to see how much longer they have before Raven’s likely to come back or before Alex wanders out from the backroom after finishing with the inventory, but his mind is scrambled and useless. Besides, he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried.

Erik speeds up, sliding his cock less gently into Charles’s mouth as pleasure begins to overtake him. Charles curves his tongue up, letting it drag along the underside of Erik’s cock so he can lick wet stripes each time Erik thrusts. Breathing hard through his nose, he starts to suck, bobbing his head in time with the steady rocking of Erik’s hips. He flicks his gaze up and sees Erik with his eyes half-lidded, his hair falling from its neat combed edge, his teeth digging hard into his bottom lip to keep silent. Still he’s letting out tiny grunts that sound half-painful, half-helpless. He looks flushed and hot and nearly insensate with pleasure. So perfect, Charles thinks dazedly. So fucking perfect.

He swallows the next time the tip of Erik’s cock nears the back of his throat, and Erik cries out, his entire body jerking. “Oh God,” he gasps, his chest heaving as his hips continue to piston forward, faster and faster until the pace is nothing short of brutal and Charles’s eyes are watering. “Oh God, Charles, ah…” The push of Erik’s dick in his mouth is uncomfortable now, almost painful, and when he blinks, tears bead at the corners of his eyes, but he’s never been so aroused in his life. 

Erik slows minutely when one tear escapes and trickles down his cheek. “Am I hurting you? Should I stop—” he breathes, but he doesn’t even finish before Charles is shaking his head and pulling them snugly together by his grip on Erik’s ass. “Tell me—tell me if you need to stop,” Erik groans before resuming his pace, each thrust deep and rapid and tight. Charles’s cock throbs between his legs. He wants to reach down and jack off to Erik’s face, eyes wide and dark with lust, entire expression overcome with pleasure. But he’s afraid that if he lets go, he’ll lose his balance, what with how powerfully Erik is thrusting, so he hangs on and lets Erik use his mouth as he will, savoring the thick weight of Erik’s cock against his tongue, sliding past his teeth and going deeper than Charles ever thought he could handle. He breathes sharply through his nose, trying to pull in enough air to keep from getting lightheaded, but it’s a moot point; he’s shaking already with the need to come, with the thought that he’s letting a complete stranger fuck his mouth in the back of his store.

“Charles,” Erik groans, “I’m going to—” He lets go of Charles’s head, clearly intending to pull out, but Charles reaches up to grip the base of his dick in one hand, swallowing him deep. And Erik moans brokenly, snapping his hips forward one more time before coming hard, streaks of his semen hitting the back of Charles’s throat and tongue. He tastes sharp and bitter, and Charles continues to suck, determined to draw every last bit of come out of him. Erik’s head lolls back as Charles tongues at his slit, lapping up the last traces of his orgasm before letting Erik’s cock slip from his mouth. When he swallows without flinching, Erik moans softly, his eyes wide as he reaches up and touches Charles’s jaw with one hand, gentle and careful.

Charles licks his lips and then his teeth. “Well.”

“Well,” Erik echoes. His eyes flick down. “I think I owe you something.”

Charles shudders eagerly. “Yes. How do you—”

“I can’t,” Erik gives him a sheepish grin. “I don’t think I can stand up right now. Come here?”

Charles laughs and acquiesces, settling onto the bench next to Erik as Erik tucks himself back in and zips up and buckles his pants. That leaves him looking mostly presentable, if a bit flushed, with Charles sitting next to him with his own slacks pushed halfway down his hips, his cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs. Erik doesn’t wait; he reaches out and closes his hand around Charles’s dick and begins to stroke, steady and firm. Struck dizzy with relief, Charles sways forward and leans his head against Erik’s neck, breathing harshly into the hollow of his collarbone. One of his hands clenches at Erik’s shoulder, the other clutching a handful of Erik’s shirt to keep himself grounded as Erik’s touch sends him flying higher and higher upward in a spiral of pleasure.

“I wish I could hear you,” Erik whispers roughly in his ear, his grip tightening and quickening so that Charles gasps out wetly. “I wish we were alone so I could make you scream. You’d scream, wouldn’t you? I can see how hard you’re biting your lip, trying to keep quiet. I wish you didn’t have to be. You’d be moaning my name, begging me to let you come, begging me to finish you off. But I’d keep you on the edge until you were screaming, until the entire block could hear you, and I wouldn’t let you come until you were truly desperate for it, truly begging—”

His voice is gravelly and dark, and it makes his words that much hotter. Panting hard, Charles thrusts helplessly into the circle of Erik’s fingers, driving toward the end, mindless with pleasure. “Erik,” he manages, his voice thick, “please.”

“Please…?”

“Please let me come,” Charles cries out, muffling his words into Erik’s shirt to keep them from getting too loud. Each stroke draws short, huffing moans from him, even as he tries to stifle them against his fist. He can’t hold on for much longer. His gut burns with pent-up arousal, and his balls are heavy, orgasm coiling at the base of his spine and up through his aching cock. He needs to come, but Erik keeps his grip purposefully loose, tight enough for excruciating pleasure but not enough to tip Charles over the edge. It’s unbearable and cruel and perfect.

“God,” Erik whispers, his own voice losing its composure. “You sound wrecked. You sound absolutely wrecked.” He tightens his hold and speeds up, his hand stroking hard at Charles’s cock, and then, _finally_ , on the fourth stroke, Charles unspools completely, orgasm shooting up through him, down his spine and radiating through his entire body. He shudders as he comes, a cry tearing from his lips as his cock jerks in Erik’s hand, messily spurting out between his fingers.

“Shh,” Erik says, his voice smoothing from the growl to something more soothing and amused. “I thought you said it would be my job to keep quiet.”

“I…hnng…” His belly tightens as Erik continues to rub him lazily, scattering his thoughts and making it impossible to think of anything other than the too-good drag of Erik’s palm on him, more sensitive after orgasm. He falls into the pleasure for a long moment, letting Erik milk his climax to its finish. A few last drops of come drip through Erik’s fingers onto the bench, and Charles thinks about pointing out that they’re dirtying store furniture, except he’s too mesmerized by the sight of Erik’s hand covered in his spunk to say anything.

When the pleasurable stimulation becomes uncomfortable overstimulation, he pushes at Erik’s hand with a whine. Erik lets go, his hand cupped and full of Charles’s come. He’d caught most of it to keep it from staining either of their clothes, and Charles stares at it now, still aroused, half-wishing refractory periods didn’t exist so that they could go another round.

“I should get you a tissue for that,” he says when he can speak again. “We should clean up.” Somehow he finds the strength to smirk. “Unless you want to lap that out of your hand.”  

But he doesn’t manage to throw Erik at all. “For the record,” Erik answers with a devilish grin, “I swallow, too. But yes, a tissue would be nice.”

Charles gapes at him for a moment, struck dumb by the thought of coming down Erik’s throat and watching him swallow every last drop. Then, flushed red from their activities and from the idea, he wipes the tip of his cock with the back of his hand, tucks himself back into his pants, and tidies up. He hurriedly sneaks through the aisles to the front desk, where he grabs the box of tissues sitting next to the register before bolting back.

“Here,” he says, still red-faced as he offers the box to Erik after grabbing a tissue for himself. He wipes off the back of his hand and the bench as Erik smears the globs of come in his palm onto a wad of tissues. They throw the mess away into the trash bin leaning against the nearest aisle and then stop for a long moment, awkwardness descending in the aftermath of hazy pleasure. Erik sits stiffly on the bench, looking anywhere but at Charles. Charles stands a few feet away, shifting restlessly from foot to foot and wondering what is appropriate to say to a stranger who’s just given you the best orgasm you’ve had in ages.

Finally, Erik says hesitantly, “I’d like to do that again. If you want to, of course.”

Charles can’t help but laugh. “Again? I’d like to do this—” he gestures vaguely between them “—again, but it’d be nice to have a change of…er…setting?”

Erik’s uncertainty dissipates into a matching smile. “How about a restaurant?”

Charles’s eyes widen. “Do you have a thing for public places?” Then, realizing how that sounds, he backtracks. “That wasn’t meant to sound judgmental or anything. I was just—ah—”

Erik laughs incredulously and shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m…I’m asking you to dinner. This is me asking you to dinner sometime.”

“Oh.” Dinner. This is something closer to serious than Charles has gotten in a long time. Isn’t this what he’s been looking for? Someone who wants more than a casual fling? The thought of commitment used to scare him, still scares him. But he’s been working himself up in the last few months to facing that fear, so he smiles eagerly and says, “Do you want my number then?”

Erik hands over his phone quickly, and Charles punches his number in and saves it under his name in the contacts list. When he hands it back, Erik grins at him, stands up, and straightens himself as best as possible. His pants are still a little damp from where Charles had been mouthing at his groin earlier, and there’s no hiding it. Charles gives it a bemused look, and Erik grimaces. “I’ll just run to my car.”

“Probably a good idea,” Charles agrees. He attempts to smooth his hair down, tousled from all the tugging, and clears his throat. “I’ll, uh…I’ll walk you to the front?”

“Yeah.” Erik bends over and picks up the shoe box lying to the side of the bench and flips the lid closed. “I’ll take these.”

“The magenta ones?” Charles asks, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“It’s a flattering shade on me,” Erik says cheekily. “Didn’t you say that?”  

Erik, Charles thinks, is someone he could really like, if they ever get to know each other properly. He leads Erik back to the register, rings up his total, and waits for Erik to hand over a credit card. As he swipes the card through, Erik takes a pen from the counter, grabs a sticky note pad from beside the keyboard, and scribbles something down. Once the transaction’s finished, they trade: receipt and bagged shoebox for note pad.  

Ten digits.

“My number,” Erik explains. “So you don’t ignore my calls.”

Charles grins and pockets the slip of paper. “Have a nice day, Erik.”

“My day has already far surpassed nice,” Erik replies, winking slyly before striding out the door.

 _Oh, you smooth operator,_ Charles thinks admiringly as he watches Erik slide into his car and pull away from the curb. Erik pauses, ducks his head a little so their eyes meet through the window, and gives Charles a parting wave. Then he’s down the street, turning the corner, and gone so quickly Charles half-thinks he dreamed the entire afternoon up. But when he puts his hand in his pocket, he can feel the note with Erik’s number on it, and his body aches pleasantly, his knees in particular. He’ll probably feel this later.

The best thing is, he’ll probably not care.

 


End file.
